The friends scattered throughout the manor, each claiming a room for the weekend. Valentine found herself drawn to a turret room at the top of a winding staircase. The climb left her slightly breathless, but the view was worth it. From her perch, she could see for miles across the rolling English countryside, the late afternoon sun casting a golden, apricity glow on the fields below.
The room itself was small and circular, with a single, arched window overlooking the grounds. Dust motes danced in the golden light that streamed through the diaphanous curtains, painting everything in a soft, ethereal glow. A massive four-poster bed, draped in faded velvet, dominated the room, its size almost comical in the confined space.
Valentine dropped her backpack on the floor, the thud strangely loud in the stillness of the room. She crossed to the window, running her fingers along the cool glass. Below, she could see her friends unpacking the Land Rover, their laughter carried on the breeze. Javier was attempting to teach Maya a salsa move, his hips swaying with exaggerated flair as Maya dissolved into giggles. Watching them, Valentine felt a pang of charmolypi, a bittersweet ache in her chest. She loved her friends, loved their chaotic energy and unwavering loyalty. But sometimes, she longed for something more, a connection that ran deeper than shared jokes and late-night study sessions.
A sigh escaped her lips, barely audible above the gentle susurrus of the wind. She closed her eyes, picturing Gabriela’s face: the curve of her smile, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed, the warmth of her hand in Valentine’s. Gabriela, with her cloud of curly hair that Valentine longed to run her fingers through, to cafune away the stress of the city. Their time together had been ephemeral, a stolen summer romance before Gabriela moved back to Puerto Rico. But the memory of her lingered, a dulcet ache in Valentine’s chest.
Opening her eyes, Valentine turned away from the window, a sudden chill settling over her. The air in the room felt different now, heavier, as if a weight had settled over her. She could have sworn she heard a whisper, a faint sigh that seemed to emanate from the very walls themselves. Shaking off the unease, Valentine unpacked her sketchbook and pencils, determined to capture the ethereal beauty of the room before the light faded. But as she sharpened her pencils, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched, her every move scrutinized by unseen eyes.
YOU ARE READING
the Blackwood Manor
ParanormalI just wanted to get rid of this old story, so post here it's also on a03 account name Etherealmeadow , story same name .
